Zen and the Art of Vampires

A distant part of my brain recognized that what I was about to do was wrong, very wrong, not just because I felt guilty over betraying a possible relationship with Alec, but because Kristoff was a vampire, an enemy, a man who stood for everything I was about to work against. There could be no rational reason why I suddenly was filled with the need to satisfy his hunger.

"You can have me," I murmured, pulling him toward me as I rolled onto my back. I bit gently on his lower lip as he rolled halfway on top of me, one hand stroking my breast.

"It isn't right," he murmured, kissing his way down to my collarbone, his tongue sweeping a path that made me arch up into him again.

"Go ahead," I said, breathing heavily as he slid down a smidgen, his hands busily unbuttoning my shirt to expose my bra. "I want you to."

And I did. I felt oddly detached from the world, as if everything had narrowed down to this one moment with Kristoff, in our safe, warm little nest. All my concerns, all my worries, had focused to one shining point: I must satisfy his hunger.

His mouth was hot on my breasts, so hot it left me gasping. He licked the exposed skin first on one breast, then the other, his hands sliding beneath me. I clutched his head, my fingers stroking the soft curls as he unhooked my bra, gasping again when his mouth closed around an aching nipple.

"So warm," he groaned. "So soft. Like silk over satin."

I writhed beneath him, my mind so filled with sensations, I couldn't begin to separate them. The scent of him ignited a base desire in me; the taste of him on my tongue left me wanting more. The feeling of his body lying half on top of mine made me want to squirm to feel more, all of him, on me and around me and inside me.

His teeth scraped gently over my nipple, tugging in a way that ignited blind passion. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, my breath sounding loud and ragged in the soft morning air.

He murmured something into the underside of my breast, words that made no sense, but which felt like a caress. "You're sure?" he asked, the stubble on his cheeks rubbing against the now sensitized flesh of my breast. Before I could answer, I saw a glint of white and felt a momentary sting that seemed made up of more pleasure than pain.

I let my head loll back at the incredible sensation of him drinking from me, a mixture of arousal and satisfaction that left me teetering on the edge of an orgasm all the while feeling a deep, intense gratification that seemed to originate in Kristoff. It was as if we were sharing emotions, and I knew with absolute certainty that he was as aroused as I was.

His tongue swept across my breast as he pulled his head up, his eyes almost glowing with a mix of desire, passion, and arousal.

I let my hands slide down his shoulders, my fingers tracing out the shape of his muscles through the cloth of his shirt. He started to move up my body, froze for a moment, then reared back and pulled his shirt off.

I cooed with happiness when he returned to my arms, kissing the valley between my breasts. My hands danced over the smooth, hard stretches of muscles in his shoulders, swept down his back, and up along his ribs. He was moving upward, slowly kissing a trail up until his mouth was poised above mine.

"This is wrong," he said, his voice deep and lyrical with the Italian accent. "It is not right."

"No, it isn't," I agreed, and arching up to him, kissed him with all the desire that he'd stirred within me.

He groaned into my mouth as I let my tongue do some wandering, my toes curling with the taste of him, hot and sweet and slightly smoky, so good it made me want to yell. He tolerated my exploration for a few minutes, tugging me upward to remove my shirt while never breaking the kiss.

My hands slid down his chest as I sank back down, enjoying the sensation of slick, silky chest hair.

He groaned again, and took control of the kiss, his tongue dancing around mine as he tasted me.

A sharp, short cry of a rodent caused me to jerk suddenly, my fear that we were about to be assaulted driving all other thoughts from my mind.

"Rats!" I said, simultaneously clutching him and trying to find the flashlight so I could pinpoint where the attack was going to come from.

"That was outside," he answered, his hand going to his mouth. He stared in surprise at his fingers.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

I looked at his finger. There was smear of red on it. "What happened?"

"You made me bite my tongue."

"Oh. I'm so sorry."

We stayed frozen where we were for the count of eight; then I said, "We should stop."

"We should," he agreed, his eyes searing a blue light deep within my soul.

"I don't want to," I said, moving my hands up his arms, braced on either side of my head.